


Two Weeks

by rivvy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Light Angst, M/M, Precious Peter Parker, Sassy Peter Parker, Tony is a dick, but also has a heart, rating will prob go up, sad boy hours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivvy/pseuds/rivvy
Summary: Everything in Peter’s life was constant, reliable. He and his mother had a carefully crafted system —no vegetables, no bad feelings, and no boys. So when his mom brings home loaded, handsome boyfriend Tony Stark, Peter doesn’t want to accept it.But when Peter’s mom goes missing, he soon finds he doesn’t have a choice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I made this on a whim after listening to Two Weeks by grizzly bear and watching gone girl help lmaoooo also this is unedited

The window sill was coated in a thin layer of dust and fruit flies --cold as ice, kindly gracing Peter with a splinter at the touch. He looked outside. A cluster of snow-drenched oak trees, a cigarette butt, yellow snow --glamour and all that. Whatever.

“Mr. Parker, are you with us?”

He saw Ms. Roach, _pardon_ , Ms. Rocha making a valiant attempt to worm her way into the Cig Pit whilst simultaneously fiddling with her pack of Kools and making every precaution to make sure she doesn’t get caught this time.  _She’s my hero —too bad she’s such a shit Spanish teacher._

“Mr. Parker”

Something moved in the corner of his vision. Veering back to the solid wall of snow-dipped oaks, past the school and the slush and the street, there was a...something. It was probably more than a mile away, but visibly emerging from the trees all the same. Something or someone tall and dark --nearly as cliche as it was real. He couldn’t quite make it out but it almost looked like--

“ _Mr. Parker!”_

Christ

Peter’s head snapped up with a “What?”

As soon as he had looked up, he was met with the cold, dead face of Mr. Venisons wrath and the overpowering smell of...old people. Mr. Venison’s tortoise shell glasses slid to the end of his nose in perfect synchronicity with the adaption of his blank stare --a terribly good effort considering how nice he was. It was soon becoming The Stare Down of the Century. The rest of the class hooted and Peter vaguely felt a spitball fly to the back of his head, knocking him out of his intense...funk (?).

“Oh God Mr. Venison, I’m so sorry! I-I just zoned out, it won’t happen again!” Peter said hurriedly, his fit of weirdness flooding back to him. The redhead next to him snickered and the class collectively rolled their eyes, Mr. Venison slowly retreating to his desk after a reluctant nod.

“Now everybody, open your copies of Lord of the Flies to page 54. Who wants to read?” And as kids groaned and read and everyone fell back into normalcy, Peter was left feeling a little shell shocked and super freaked out. _What had gotten into me?_  He turned to the fingerprint covered window once more, simply for a moment, and spotted the figure amongst the silent winter scene. But he blinked, and the only things that were left when he opened his eyes were ice, trees, and an odd feeling he didn’t like in the least.

—

The trek home from school was downcast and desolate. After Mr. Venison’s class he had fallen asleep in the library, only to get woken up with a graceful smack over the head from Mrs. Adams, the lovely librarian. Turns out he ended sleeping through the bus home. And he forgot to give Ned his theoretical physics textbook back —and he’d forgotten his snowshoes and somebody had stolen his pencil and his leg had fallen asleep and he had slipped on the stairs on his way out --whew. It was way too early for this.

The air was thin and biting, slipping down Peter’s throat and freezing it like a popsicle. Melted snow slid around in his vans. Squelch Squelch. Moist. Damp. Insert more Gross Descriptions. Drooping, frosted trees deposited snow down his back -- _gotta save them trees, amirite_? The ice on the sidewalk made his feet slide, and if he stood still long enough, he could see his reflection in it, but all he could make out were his tired fawn-brown eyes before a car rushed by and splashed his face into oblivion.

\---

When Peter had heard the lock click in the door to his house after shoving the key in, he pushed it open and slid his backpack off his shoulders with more vigour than he’d had all day. He stumbled to his immediate right and plopped himself face down on the disgusting, green paisley loveseat he and his mom had copped from the flea market. _It may smell like regret and wet towels left on the floor too long, but man was it comfortable_. And who could resist the earth-shattering pull of a ridiculously comfy sofa coupled with a heavy dose of teenage angst and waking up too early? Certainly not him. And as he laid there, nearly choking on the bliss of coming home, he turned his head and--

“Boo!”

Peter shrieked like little girl, nearly falling of the sofa. _Holyshitholyshitohmygod_  Across from him sat Tony Stark --an egotistical, rich, frankly sort of weird, nuisance --a.k.a my mom’s boyfriend. Somehow, he was always equipped with his perfectly-styled facial hair, the most pretentious clothes money could buy, and his personality --which was frankly much too large for him and his mother's tiny house. Hell, Tony’s personality might even be too big for his whole _town_. And he was just-just there, in his house like he owned it --sitting all high and mighty with his styled dark hair and his Armani glasses and his nice slacks and shirt with a smirk on his face in his mother's favourite chair. God, he was just so...so-so outrageous and gaudy and _hot._ _Jesus, do I need coffee_...maybe if-- wait.

Tony was laughing. Oh no, nuh uh, no no no. Tony was laughing! At him!

“Oh, _kiddo_ , oh _God_!” At this point Tony’s laughter had evolved into more of a raucous roar, bouncing off the walls of his house.

“Ugh, shut up. It wasn’t that funny.” Peter tried his hardest to sound incredulous. Judging by Tony’s renewed laughing vigour, he nailed it. Jeez.

“Kid, you should have seen your face! Ha! One minute you’re screeching and the next you’re all ‘Girl Interrupted’! Oh my god! Hoo, boy that was _good_!”

“Whatever,” huffed Peter “what are you doing here anyways?”

At that Tony’s harried wheeze died down a little, and he re-adjusted his glasses with a snort. “Your mom got me a key a few days ago, and she wanted me to make sure you hadn’t gotten kidnapped or were sniffing sharpies or whatever, but obviously you’re preoccupied having one your little aneurysms or something.”

“It wasn’t an aneurysm, you just get a sick sense of fulfillment from creeping the living crap outta me! And mom wouldn’t say that, she trusts me!”

“Maybe, but that’s still what she told me.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m here alone more often than I’m with her, and she just so happens to find me very responsible --I don’t need some old guy lurking around the house making sure I don’t throw bologna on the ceiling or whatever.” One point for Parker, zero for Stark.

“Ok A) I’m 42, and you’re like 8, and B) Maybe you’ve been watching too much Gilmore Girls or something, but you’re most certainly on a leash —especially with what happened to that other kid.”

‘ _Especially with what happened to that other kid’._ Peter looked down and flushed, a chestnut curl falling into his face. Tony was right. What had happened to Chad Meier was equally as fresh as it was unsolved. Something had been going on in his town, something he couldn’t put his finger on. Chad’s extremely dubious disappearance was just the tip of the iceberg, just barely giving way to something more profound. Everything was shifting and changing, and he could feel it, in his town, buried under the snow. Everytime he looked outside, he could sense something wrong within the blanket of frost and saturnity.

He looked up at Tony, and as his deep brown eyes bored into Peter’s, he knew he could feel it too. All his quips and his stubbornness evaporated as the burdensome sense of dread he’d been feeling all day made a home in his stomach once more. And all he could say was, “I know.”

And Tony nodded. The snow started to fall softly outside, and the Nat King Cole record he didn’t notice was playing hit a scratch and stilled eerily, before picking up again. Now Peter’s face lay on the inside of his elbows, resting on the armrest of the loveseat. The floors creaked and he could feel his mother's old chenille blanket being draped over his shoulders; he shuddered.

“Thanks, Tony. Sorry for the nagging.” Peter drawled out, muffled by his arms. Tony hummed, ruffling his hair, and then retreated. Peter’s mind began to fog with the low thrumming of the furnace and the crooning of Nat King Cole, bouncing of the ceilings and absorbing in his blankets.

 _Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep_  
_They just lie there,_ _and they die there_  
_Are you warm, are you real Mona Lisa_  
_Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art_

And everything was forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter awakens to something unsettling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk wtf I’m doing yall help

His eyes were crusted over when he opened them, coupled with the painful process of awakening in an awkward place. And his neck felt like death. He didn’t know what time it was, but he rose --stiffly --to go check on Tony, and possibly his mom, depending on what time it was. When he wandered from the living room sofa to the adjacent, dimly lit hallway, he peeked into the first door on the left --his mothers room. The queen-sized bed inside was empty; still made up with its dark grey duvet neatly tucked underneath his mother’s favourite, clinically white pillows. Next. Peter wandered further down the hallway to the second room on his left, his room, with the door still ajar from his morning rush to school. His tiny twin bed was exactly as he had left it this morning, Totally Gross, and the Star Wars poster-covered walls sat still. The whole house had assumed this bizarrely stagnant air, thick and choking, entering his lungs and fogging up his mind. _Where the hell had everyone gone?_ He quickly exited the vacant room and walked a little further, diving towards his left. In the dining room/kitchen/sanctuary, sat Tony at the old wooden dinner table, haphazardly slumped over his laptop, drink in hand, somehow still ostentatiously dressed. The refrigerator’s low hum echoed throughout the room, bouncing off of metal and tile, filling The Eerie Silence with something a little less silent and a little more eerie. Next to it the oven clock blinked 4:32 in its bright red block letters, flashing and flashing like a warning. If it’s 4:32...then where was his mom? 

The whole house was nearly dead silent with the exception of a few perfectly normal appliance-noises and Tony’s near-snoring. He had mapped the whole house, or at least he had thought, but his mother was nowhere in sight. _Maybe she left to get groceries or something? Maybe she met up with a friend? Maybe she had to work a little overtime?_ Peter hurriedly dashed back into the living room, pressing the messages button on the house answering machine that rested on the wooden buffet by the door.

His voicemail greeting called out to him, filling the house with his pre-recorded voice. _“Hi, you’ve reached the Parker’s. We either aren’t here, or we’re too lazy to_ _pick up the phone, but we’ll give you a call back! Maybe”_. This is the part where his mother giggles, one of her more light-hearted moments, before the sound is abruptly cut off and the tone ends with a beep. He has a voicemail...but when did he get the call? Likely his call-to-voicemail judgement was impaired by his heavy sleeping, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He was even less sure when he heard his mother’s voice ring out.

“ _Hi Petey, it’s mom. You should still be awake, since it’s only 10:30, and you probably have homework,”_ She laughed breathily. “ _But if you haven’t already figured it out yet there’s $10 on the kitchen table for pizza if you want to order some. I wanted to be home at 11, but I forgot I was still on call and I can’t get home ‘till about 3. If you need anything ask Tony! Love you, baby! Bye!”_

Immediately following the end of the message, Peter dashed to the window near the door, peeling back the blinds to look outside. In the driveway sat his mother’s white Toyota Corolla, vacant, quiet and dusted with snow. The moonlight refracted off the thick snow in beams, sparkling back at him --silent and undisturbed. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

 _Where_ was his mom? He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. _Calm down, there are probably plenty of reasonable explanations for why this is what this looks like._

It felt like time was frozen in his home. Everything was as it had been, hours ago, maybe days, for he hadn’t seen his mom in a while. The furnace buzzed and the refrigerator hummed and Tony made some sort of sleep-induced noise, but Peter couldn’t hear any of it. He began to make his way back to the kitchen, narrowly dodging the sharp corners of the coffee table in his trance. The house was lifeless and cold, and Peter’s brain thrummed with static as he placed one foot in front of the other, wobbling his way towards Tony. The beige walkway walls felt as if they were spinning and tilting and closing in on him, so he sped his reluctant stumble up into a run, aggressively turning the corner into the kitchen.

He saw Tony there, sleeping, slouched but his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. But at least his hand-brain coordination was better than his brain-mouth coordination, because he had no problem grabbing Tony's shoulder and shaking him, hoping desperately to wake him up. He didn’t budge. Peter shook and he shook and _oh my God_ and--

  
Tony stirred, groaning. “Baby, what are you…” He grabbed Peter’s hand and finally lifted his head up at him, blinking a few times and then frowning lightly. _Thank God he’s awake_. Peter’s throat mysteriously and conveniently unclogged itself, giving way to his pre-speech hyperventilation. Tony’s frown deepened and he looked around.

“Peter, what time is it?” Tony sounded drained, but his eyes glinted with apprehension. 

“It-Its, um...I don’t know,” _get yourself together,_ “like, 4:30?”

“What’re you doing up? I mean I _know_ it’s all ‘kids these days’ and whatever but don’t ya think this is sort of pushing it?”

“N-no, Tony look--”

“And at this rate you’ll wake your mom up, and you should know better than anyone that Your Mother’s Rage is directly proportional to her beauty rest and--”

“ _Tony_ ”

Tony looked up at him from his seat at the table, and Peter felt a pang of disgust and shame as the tears in his eyes spilled over, making polka-dots in Tony’s dress shirt. Peter’s lip was quivering against his will and his eyebrows scrunched together and his resolve was slowly being chipped away and _where is my mom_ ( _and where is my dignity_?). Tony’s eyes softened in tandem with his frown.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

He could sense Tony’s growing unease, eyes darting wildly, landing on Peter’s own every now and then. The tears and the shaking and everything --he could tell Tony couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle him. But it was more pressing than that. The house was still deathly quiet, and the air around Peter trembled --delicately --with the notion that something terrible had happened.

“Something is horribly wrong, Tony.” 

The tears just kept on falling as the static in Peter’s head grew louder, completely drowning out the distant echo of someone’s screaming.


End file.
